Don't take me away from her
by Lolita's Shadow
Summary: This is a story of what would have happened if Humbert had killed Charlotte. Sherlock comes to investigate the murder. Sorry that the first chapter is rather sloppy. I'm going to try to make this story dark.
1. Chapter 1

Humbert was facing one of his worst fears. His paranoia had come true. The law was at his door.

"May we come in… Sir?" Lestrade asked, a posse of police officers behind him.

"I…" Humbert trailed off, looking over his shoulder. The light of his life was sitting on the sofa in the living room, reading a magazine. Her hair was split into twin braids that were bound by red ribbons. She was wearing a red and blue dress with matching stockings. She was unbeknownst to the men at the door.

"I didn't do anything wrong. I-I don't understand," Humbert stuttered, his heart pounding in his chest. The man with the salt and pepper hair nodded.

"We know, sir. We just want to come in and ask a few questions; search around. It's a standard procedure," he continued.

"Alright," Humbert agreed quietly, opening the door all the way as the men flooded in. The last one to come in, however, didn't look like the others. He was wearing a black trench coat with a navy blue scarf bundling around his neck. He had piercing, hawk like eyes that saw right through Humbert's soul. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, taking everything into view until his scanning stopped on Lolita. He looked her up from head to toe. He stared at her quizzical expression as the officers circled the living room, taking photos.

"Come on, Lolita," Humbert called from the doorway. She jumped off the couch and sprinted towards him. Mr. Humbert led Lolita up the stairs and into the study. Sherlock's eyes followed the two up the staircase until the door slammed behind them. While in the study, Humbert explained to the young Dolores Haze that the men were here on account of her mother's death. She stood in front of his desk while he leaned back in his chair.

"But the death didn't take place in the living room," Lo said.

"I know," he replied. The girl noticed that the man's hands were shaking. She sighed, shaking her head. She set herself in his lap, closing the notebook that sat in front of him. Just as he was about to rest his head on her shoulder, Lolita shot up and ran towards the door making a clumsy exit.

The man with the trench coat entered, looking back at the girl jogging down the hallway. His eyes finally returned to Humbert, his face expressionless.

"I suppose you're here to question me," Humbert finally said, his palms sweaty. Sherlock placed his hands behind his back, walking to the window.

"Your step-daughter is how old?" Sherlock asked. Humbert wiped his hands on his slacks.

"What does her age have to do with anything?" he countered, furrowing his brow.

"How old was Dolores when you married Charlotte?" he inquired, turning towards the man. Humbert was becoming distressed. Why did he need to know her age so terribly?

Sherlock picked up a picture frame of Dolores and Humbert sitting together on a bench.

"You're very fond of her," Sherlock remarked, setting the picture frame back on the desk.

Humbert rubbed the bridge of his nose, collecting his thoughts together. He must remain calm.

"Of course I am; I'm her father," he said with a sigh.

"Step-father," Holmes corrected him. Why was Sherlock toying with him? With his emotions? Humbert had just enough. He slammed his fist on his desk abruptly.

"Are you here to talk about my Lolita or my wife's death?"

Sherlock transformed his blank expression into a lopsided smile.

"I think I know enough now," he told him. Sherlock left the confused Humbert to his study. His heart was drumming in his throat now. His hands were shaking and clammy.

He had already lost it with the one mention of his wife's name. The only reason why Humbert was confused was the fact that the detective kept on referring to his sweet Lolita instead of his dead wife.

The crew of officers along with the detective informed Humbert that they would be making another visit tomorrow to do further investigating. This made Humbert's stomach perform back flips. What could they possibly further investigate? Though Humbert was scared, he put on a cheery smile and showed his "guests" out with Lolita standing beside him. That was the only good thing about the whole dilemma after all… He had little Lo, his beautiful nymphet, all to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

It was around 10 o'clock in the morning and Humbert was sitting in the orange armchair by the kitchen with a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. The little nymphet crawled towards him on all floors in her striped blue and white dress. She tore the paper out of his hands, making him jump.

"What? You scared, old man?" Lolita asked with a giggle. She climbed onto his lap, giving him a lingering kiss on the neck. It sent shivers down his spine. He closed his eyes and tried not to let out a groan.

"Lolita, really. They'll be here any minute." The doorbell rang, sending Humbert's heart into a full gallop.

"Speak of the devil," he grumbled bitterly. Lolita hopped off him and sprang to the door.

She was the first to answer it which only made Humbert more nervous than before. This time, there wasn't a team of investigators at the door. It was just the man in the trench coat and navy scarf. Humbert tripped on the rug, bumping into Lolita. He gripped onto her shoulder, trying to steady himself.

"Mr. Holmes. Come in," he said sounding out of breath. Sherlock didn't acknowledge the father. He stepped right in, hands behind his back as he surveyed the premise. He made his way to the back door where the ironing board was. He ran his index finger across the board. Humbert's heart nearly got caught in his rib cage. That was the place where he had dragged Charlotte out back. He had attempted to bleach the blood from the carpet under the board, but it left an ugly splotch. He held his breath as Holmes stared at the floor, crouching under the board.

Humbert reached for his Swiss army knife, his hand trembling. He couldn't let this happen. He grabbed onto the edge of the blade.

"I'm done here," Sherlock said abruptly, standing up. Humbert quickly stole the knife back into his pocket. He turned to the father and his step-daughter.

"I'd be more careful next time, if I were you. Bleach leaves nasty stains on tartan rugs," Holmes muttered a bit too quickly for Humbert to catch all at once.

"That's—That's all?" Humbert asked, his words tumbling out of his mouth. He followed Sherlock to the door.

"That's it," the consulting detective said flatly before slamming the door behind him. Humbert stood in his white shirt, robe, and ratted pajama bottoms at the door in disbelief. He leaned against the wall, his heart going so rapidly, he could hardly control himself.

"You oka—''

Lo's question was cut off by the front door busting open, leaving Humbert frozen in fear where he was.


	3. Chapter 3

A squad of policemen broke in along with Lestade. They all had their guns pointed at him barking at him to stay where he was. Lolita looked confused for a moment. Her eyes were glassy and still as she took all of this is while Humbert slowly kneeled on the ground with his hands behind his head. A copper haired police chief came to Humbert, clasping handcuffs around his wrists. He gulped down a lump in his throat as he stood up.

"No!" Lolita protested. Lestrade put his hand on her shoulder.

"Please," Humbert pleaded, "you can't take me away from her." His voice was quiet and hoarse over Lo's screaming. Lolita tried to leap into his arms, but Lestrade yanked her back. She cursed at him and wriggled around while Lestrade held Lolita back by her waist.

Humbert couldn't bare seeing Dolores in this state. He fixed his eyes on his feet, trying to look brave for his little girl. He refused to cry in front of the authorities and his nymphet. He had to be strong… For Lolita. He shuffled out the door with the clique of officers. Humbert brushed past Sherlock who was watching the whole fiasco from the front porch. Sherlock's hands were folded behind his back and he was staring straight into the house with a stern expression. Lolita trembled and crumpled to the ground, her pigtail braids becoming loose. One of her blue ribbons fell from her hair. Lestrade kneeled beside her, handing her the ribbon as a peace offering. She sniffed and slapped it out of his hand. He sighed and spoke into his walkie-talkie.

"We're going to need Mrs. Monroe to escort the girl away. She'll bring the paperwork," he spoke into the device.

"I don't see why you can't escort the girl yourself to the office," a familiar voice responded from the doorway. Lolita looked up through her salty tears to see the trench coat man.

"Not my division," Lestrade replied. "We need to take the man to the station. Someone needs to look after the Haze girl until Monroe comes to take her." Lestrade pointed a finger at Sherlock. He stiffly shook his head.

"I'm counting on you," Lestrade nodded, passing Sherlock up.

"I have things to do! I can't… babysit!" Sherlock spat at him.

Lolita flashed Sherlock a dirty glare. She clambered to her feet and sprinted to the stairwell. She made a big show of making her footsteps loud as she marched to her room, slamming the door. He sighed and followed the girl up the stairs. He had no time or patience to deal with this now. He twisted the knob, allowing himself entrance in the room only to see the girl's back faced towards him while she pulled her top off over her head. He swallowed, closing the door quietly behind him. He padded down the stairs and peeked outside. There was no sigh of Mrs. Monroe. He impatiently checked his phone for the time. Since the little girl had banished herself to her room, Sherlock decided to make himself a cup of tea. While in the kitchen, he heard a car pull up. A gray haired woman stepped out with a bundle of paperwork. Dolores was already coming down the stairs, her hands balled up into fists.

"Go with her," Sherlock said, nodding towards the woman as the two made their way to the door. Lolita brushed past Sherlock. Her shoulder purposely knocked into his arm. It was so light that the lanky man barely even noticed it. In fact, it sent an odd tingle down his spine. The nymphet climbed into the car, not acknowledging the hand shake offered to her by Mrs. Monroe.


End file.
